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Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Cuban Pastries and Applebeesification

People who’ve never been anywhere in their lives might
not understand the significance of a pastry. We live in a country where
stripmalls and concrete have rendered character obsolete, where you can’t tell
if you’re in California or Ohio or Florida because chain corporations have
ripped the individuality out of most places. It’s gotten to the point where
Applebeesification has even conquered ballparks – you can’t go to a game these
days without some type of mascot race, a which-hat/ice-cream-container/crab-has-the-ball
scramble, and the same music and cheers as everyone else. Even fan traditions
have been Xeroxed from other cities. For example, Reds fans copied throw-back-the-homer
from Chicago and woo-at-the-moon from Pittsburgh. Sure, there are still some traits
unique to certain parks – Sweet Caroline in Boston, Skyline Chili in
Cincinnati, Phillies phans booing their own children – but go to Citizens Bank
Park or Citi Field or Nationals Park and you could possibly forget which city
you’re in.

So it’s not surprising that some people don’t understand
why a man from an impoverished dictatorship who left his country and family
behind to pursue a dream would stuff himself with pastries that taste like
home. Wait, let me say that again…who
left his country and family behind to pursue a dream…and some people are
accusing him of not wanting to play the game, of not caring?

For the past week, I’ve been addicted to this game, GeoGuessr, which plops you down in some part
of the world at Google Street View and you’re supposed to figure out where you
are. You use road signs, flora, bodies of water, terrain, direction, the way
the lines are painted on the road, the cars driven, anything to help you figure
out where you are. Most of those places I will never see – remote towns in Arctic
Norway, dry desert roads in northern South Africa, industrial towns in the
middle of Russia – and I like the game even more because of this. However, when
I am put into the American or Canadian suburbs, I throw my hands in the air.
Olive Garden. Red Lobster. Applebees. Anytown, USA.

But – we are also a nation of immigrants who brought
various styles and cultures to this land, and when we get to our great cities,
we still find the character and soul that makes them places worthy of visiting
and remembering. Clam chowder in Boston. Crabcakes in Baltimore. Cheesesteak in
Philly. Tex-Mex in Austin. And then there are those unique places that pop up
all over our urban landscapes, places like that Cuban bakery from where Aroldis
Chapman bought the pastries, pastries that tasted like home to him. Yes, he
went overboard. But to use his bad judgment as evidence he doesn’t care about
the game? Get off your couch and visit the real world.

If you don’t ever leave your town, you don’t understand
what it’s like to find a place where you can get something authentic you can’t
find outside of another place. I can’t imagine that those who would question
Chapman’s commitment to the game have much travel experience since they can’t
seem to understand why he’d stuff himself full of those pastries. When your
idea of going out to dinner is driving to the local Applebees, I wonder if you
can conceive the notion that something is rare enough that one would stuff
himself upon finding it. And when you think that a guy who can never return to
his country doesn’t care about the thing he gave up his country to pursue,
well, you just lack empathy and compassion. Also, intelligence.

So he blew a save. It’s one game, and the Reds have a
.600 record. We have probably the best closer in baseball. Quit whining.